THE GLASGOW POISOnNING CASE.

Otago Witness, Issue 309, 31 October 1857, Page 6

THE GLASGOW POISOnNING CASE.

TEIAL OF MISS M. SMITH. Tbe trial of Madeline Smith on a charge of having caused the death of her lover by poison, com. . menced on the 30th June, and did not terminate until the 9th July. The excitement was most in. tense, not only throughout Scotland, but in the whole of the United Kingdom. *Iho great respec lability of the family, and the youth and attractive appearance of the prisoner, assisted in increasing the interest inspired by the circumstances attending the dreadful crime with which she was charged —• that of murdering a man for whom she was daily professing the utmost affection. The horror excited in one's mind on reading the evidence is in itself an inducement to try and believe her innocent. On the bench were the Lord Justice-Clerk, Lord Handyside, and Lord Ivory. The Dean of Faculty (Mr. Inglis), Mr. George Young, and Mr. A. Moncrieff, appeared to defend the prisoner. Upwarda of £4000 is said to have been spent for the defence, which was subscribed by friends of the family in Glasgow. Tbe Dean of Faculty, who defended the prisoner, received, it is reported, £250 with his brief, and a refresher of £70 each day the trial lasted. Madeline Smith, daughter of Jas. Smith, architect, Glasgow, ia a young lady of 21 years of age, of a figure rather short and slight, but very graceful; good looking, and altogether her appearance is such as would bo certain to attract attention among men. On her entering the court to take her trial, she was dressed in a brown silk dress, a black silk cloak, a small straw bonnet trimmed with white ribbons, and lavender kid gloves. In her hand she held a white handkerchief and a silver-topped smelling-bottle. Her appearance was perfectly self-possessed throughout the trial. The case for the prosecution occupied nearly sir days, and from it is gathered the following narrative of the origin and progress of the intimacy between Miss Madeleine Smith and the deceased. P. L'Angelier was a native of Jersey. He was in several situations, and eventually entered the service of Messrs. Huggins, of Glasgow, as a clerk, about four years and a half ago. At the end of March, 1855, he became acquainted with Miss Smith, whose first letter to him was dated April 3 of that year, and written in kindly terms. The second letter put in evidence was dated the 18th of the same month, and proposed that the correspondence between them should cease " for the present •' A break in the correspondence occurs here, the uext letter being dated Sept. 4, and addressed to I/Angelier at Jersey; the tenor of this letter shows that the intimnoy between them liad increased ; in it she begs, in a very affectionate manner, that he will not think of going to Lima, and concludes with a passionate declaration of her love for^him. A letter, dated April 29, '56, seems to shew that the intimacy between them had assumed a criminal character, and this is placed beyond a doubt by the following letters:— " Tuesday, 2 o'clock. —My own darling husband, I am afraid I may be too late to write you this eVening, so as all are out I shall do it now, my sweet one. I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you last evening; of being fondled by you, dear, dear Emile. Our cook was ill. and went to bed at ten. That was the reason I could not see you; but I trust ere long to have a long interview with you, sweet one of my soul, my love, myall, my own. best beloved... .1 did, my love, so pity you standing in the cold last night, but I could not get Janet to sleep, little stupid thing.... My own sweet beloved, I can say nothing as to our marriage, as it is not certain when they may go from home; when I may is uncertain. My beloved, will we require to be married in Edinburgh, or will it do here ? You know I know nothing of these things. I fear the bans in Glasgow, there are so many people know me. If I had any other name but Madeleine it might pass, but it is not a very common one. But we must manage in some way to be united ere we leave town. Much, much love; kisses tender; long embraces —kisses, love. I am thy own, thy ever fond, thy own dear loving wife—thy " Mimi L'Angelier.'* * " Helensburgb, 7th," month illegible; year 1856. ft My own beloved husband —l trust to God you got home safe, and were not much the worse of being out. Thank you, my love, for coming so far to see your Mimi. It is truly a pleasure to see you my Emile. If we did wrong last night, it must have been in the excitement of our love. I suppose we ought to have waited till ive were married. Yes, beloved, I did truly love you \tith my soul. I was happy ; it was a pleasure to be with you. Ob, if we could have remained never more to have parted .. ..Beloved, we shall wait till you are quite ready. I shall see and speak to Jack on Sunday. I shall consider about telling mamma. But I don't see any hope from her. I know her mind. You, of course, cannot judge of my parents; you know them not. I did not know, or I should not have done it, that I caused you to pay extra postage for tny stupid cold letters; it shall not occur again. Darling Emile, did I seem cold to you last night ? Darling, I lov« you —you, my own Emile. I love you with my heart and soul. Am I not your wife > Yes I am. - And you may rest assured, after what has passed, I cannot be the wife of any other but dear, dear Einile. No, now it would be a sin.... ■ I felt a good deal of pain last night. I shall altra^-fjg remember last night. I dread next winter. OnlsHv fancy, beloved, us both in the same town, and.uiw able to write to each other; it breaks my heaTlgjft think of it. Why, beloved, are we so unfortunaWj ....I shall alwiiys remember last night. Will we not often talk of our evening meetings after we are married ? Why do yon say in your letter, 'If we are not married !' I would not regret knowing you. . Beloved, have you a doubt that we) shall, be mar. ,ried some day ! I shall write dear Mary soon. What would she say if she knew we were so intimate? She would lose all her good opinion of us both, .would she not ?'" - c ' .- * jf flelensburgh, June 27,1R56. —8e10ved, dearly beloved husband, sweet Emile, —How »I long to ball you mine, never more to leave you. What must occur ere that takes place, God*only knows h I often fear some cloud may yet fall on oar path,, and mar oar happiness for along time. I shall

never cause you anbappinens again. No, I was unbind, cruel, unloving, bat I shall rioter be re. pented. No, lam now s wife in every sense of the word, and it is my duty to conduct myself as such. Yea, I shall behave now more to your mind. lam do longer a child.... lf you only saw me now — (I am all alone hi my little bedroom)— you would never mention your home as being humble. I have a small room on the ground floor— very small — so don't fancy I could sot put up in small rooms, and with bumble fare. But if you think it would do you good — a tour — go by all means for b\x months or so. I trust you will take great care of yourself, aud not forget your Mimi. Oh, how I iove that name of Mitui ! You shall always call me by that name; and, dearest, Emile, if ever we should have a daughter, I should like yon to allow me to call her Mimi, for her father's sake.... As you ask me, I shall burn your last letter. It was my cold which prevented me going to Arrochar....l was ill the beginning of this week, so if I should have the happiness t» see you on Tuesday night I shall be quite welt, t think I feel better this week. I cannot eat ; I have not taken any breakfast for about two months, not even a cup of tea, nothing till I get luncheon at one o'clock. I don't sleep much. I wonder, and no does M., that my looks are not changed, but I look well as I eat and sleep well. I don't think I am any stouter, but you can judge when you next see me, but I must go to bed, as I feel cold, so good night. Would to God it were by your side ; I would feel well and happy then. — " Mini LMngblier. All the prisoner's letters, down to the end of January this year, are filled with the most passion* ate assurances of her devotion to him, mingled latterly with explanations of circumstances which had excited his jealousy, when suddenly and immediately after writing him a most affectionate letter, she sends him the following:— " Thursday, 7 o'clock. — You may be astonished at this sudden change, but for some time back you must have noticed a coolness in my notes. My love for you has ceased, and that is why I was cool. I did love you truly and fondly, but for some time back I have lost much of that love. There is no other reason for my conduct, and I think it but fair to let you know this. I might have gone on and become your wife, but I could not have loved you as I ought. My conduct you will condemn, but I did at one time love you with heart and soul. It has cost me much to tell you this — sleepless nights — but ii was necessary you should know. If you remain in Glasgow, or go away, I hope you may succeed in all your endeavours. I know you will never injure the character o f one yon so fondly loved. No, Emile, I know you have the honour, and are a gentleman. What has passed you will not mention. I know when I ask you that you will comply.— Adieu." His answer to this is not forthcoming, but he appears to have written to her proposing to return ler her letters through her father, evidently with the view of preventing her from breaking off the connection, as he knew she would not consent to this. Her answer to the proposition is important, as showing the dread she entertained of the consequence of his doing so ; it is as follows . — " Monday night. " Emile, — I have just had your note. Emile, for the love you once had for me do nothing till I see you. For God's sake do not bring your once loved Mimi to an open shame. Emile, I have deceived you. I have deceived my mother. God knows she did not boast of anything I had said of you, for the poor woman thought I had broken off with you last winter. I deceived you by telling you she still knew of our engagement. She did not. This 1 now confess, and as for wishing for an engagement with another, I do not fancy she ever thought of it. Emile, write to no one — to papa or any other. O ! do no not till I see you on "Wednesday night. . . . It would break my mother's heart. Oh, Emile, be not harsh to me. lam the most guilty, miserable wretch on the face of the earth. Emile, do not drive me to death. When I ceased to love you, believe me it was not to love another. lam free from all engagements at present. Emile, for God's sake do not send my letters to papa; it will be an open rupture. I will leave the house. I will die. Emile, do nothing till I see you. One word to-morrow night at my window to tell me, or I shall go mad. Emile, you did love me. I did fondly, truly love you too. Oh, dear Emile, be not so harsh to me. Will you not, but I cannot ask forgiveness — I am Wo guilty for that. I have deceived. It was love for you at the time made me say mamma knew of our engagement. To-morrow, ene word, and on Wednesday we meet. I would not again ask you to love me for I know you could not. But oh, Emile, do not make me go mad. I well tell you that only tnyself and C. H. knew of my engagement to you Mamma did not know since last winter. Pray for me — for a guilty wretch— but do nothing. Oh, Emile, do nothing. 10 o'clock to-morrow night — one line for the love of God." " Tuesday Morning. 11 1 am ill. God knows what I have suffered. My punishment is more than I can bear. Do nothing till I see you. For the love of heaven do nothing. lam mad. lam ill.'' " Tuesday Evening, 12 o'clock. "Emile— l have this night received your note. Oh, it is kind of you to write to me. Emile, no one can know the intense agony of mind I have suffered last night and to-day. Emile, my father's wrath would kill me— you little know his temper. Emile, for the love you once had for me, do not denounce me to my P. Emile, if he should read my letters to you he will put me from him — he will hate me as a guilty wretch. I loved you and wrote to you in my first ardent love — it was with my deepest love I loved you. It was for your love I adored you. 1 put on paper what I should not. I was free because I loved you with my heart. If he or any other one saw those fond letters to you, what would not be said of me f On my bended knees I write to you, and ask you as you hope for mercy at the judgment day, difljnot inform on me — do not make me a public shame. Emile, my love has been one of bitter disappointment. You and only you can make the rest ofnigflife peaceful. My own conscience will be a punishment that I shall carry to my grave. I have deceived the best of men. You may forgive me, but God never will. For God's love, forgive me, and betray me not. For the love you once had for nic do not bring down toy father's wrath on me. It will kill my mother (who is not well). It will for ever cause me bitter unhappiness. I am humble beforeyou, and crave your mercy. You can give me forgiveness, and you — oh, you only— can make me happy for- the rest of my life. I ' would not ask you to love me or ever make me your wife. lam too guilty for that. I have deceived and told you too many falsehoods for you ever to respect me. But, oh ! will you not keep my secret from, the world ? Oh ! will you not, for Christ's sake^ denounce me. I shaft be undone. 1 shall be ruined. Who would trust me? Shatne will be my lot. Despise me, hate me, but make me not the public

scandal. Forget me for ever. Blot out all remembrance of me. ... I have used you ill. I did love you 1 , and it was my soul's ambition to be your wife. I asked you to tell me my faults. You did so, and it made me cool towards you gradually. When you have found fault with me I have cooled. It was not love for another, for their is no one I love. My love has all been given to you. My heart is empty — cold. I am unloved, I am despised. I told you I had ceased to love you — it was true. I did not love as I did ; but, oh ! till within the time of our coming to town I loved you fondly. I longed to be your wife. I had fixed February. I longed for it. The time I could not leave my father's house. I grew discontented ; then I ceased to love you. Oh, Emile, this is indeed the true statement. Now you can know my state of mind, Emile. I have suffered much for you. I lost much of my father's confidence since that September ; and my mother has never been the same to me. No she has never given me the same kind look. For the sake of my mother— her who gave me lifespare me from shame. Oh, Emile, you will, in God*s name, hear my prayer ? I ask God to forgive me. I have prayed that he put in your heart to spare me from shame. Never, never, while I live can I be happy. No, no, I shall always have the thought I have deceived you. lam guilty ; it will be a punishment I shall bear till the day of my death. I am humbled thus to crave your pardon, but I dare not. While I have breath I shall ever think of you as my best friend, if you will only keep this between ourselves. I blush to ask you. Yet, Emile, will you not grant me this my last favour ?—? — if you will never reveal what has passed. Oh, for God's sake, for the love of heaven, hear me. I grow mad. I have been ill, very ill, all day. I have had what has given me a false spirit. I had resort to what I should not have taken, but my brain is one fire. I feel as death would indeed be sweet. Denounce me not. Emile, Emile, think of our once happy days. Pardon me if you can : pray for me as the most wretched, guilty, miserable creature on earth. I could stand anything but my father's hot displeasure. Emile, you will not cause my death. If he is to get your letters I cannot see him any more ; and my poor mother, I will never more kiss her. It would be a shame to them all, Emile, will you not spare me this ? Hate me, despise me, but do not expose me. I cannot write more. lam too ill to-night.' 1 These letters, which are among the most pathetic ever written, had the effect which might have been anticipated, the intimacy was renewed ; the deceased acting apparently under the influence of mortified vanity as much as from love, and the young woman from fear. This renewal of the intimacy between them must have taken place about the beginning of February, and immediately afterwards he had an attack of illness precisely similar to that which would have been caused by the administration of arsenic. A letter without date, but written about the Same time, was put in evidence ; in it she refers in a sympathising manner to his illness, and addresses him in very affectionate language. On 22nd Feb. the deceased was attacked with precisely the same symptoms, the effects of which lasted some time. On the 2nd March he called upon a Miss Perry, who was aware of his attachment to Miss Smith, and in the course of conversation respetting his illness he said, " I cannot think why I was so unwell after getting that coffee and chocolate from her, 1 ' and Miss Perry understood him to refer to Miss Smith ; in fact the latter stated in her declaration that she gave him some cocoa one night — aud on the 9th March, on his calling on Miss Perry again, he spoke of his extreme attachment to Miss Smith : be said, " It is a perfect infatuation I have fur her ; if she were to poison me I would forgive her," and on her asking, "What motive could she (Miss S ) have to do you any harm ?" He said, " I don't know ; perhaps she might Dot be sorry to get rid of me" — and be said it in a tone as if he were much in earnest. At this time he- had heard that she was receiving the addresses of a Mr. Minnoch; and in reply to a letter from her, dated March 4, advising him not to go to the Bridge of Allan Water, as her father and M. would think she bad induced him to go there, but to the south of England, be wrote : — " Glasgow, March 5. "My Dear Sweet Pet Mimi — I feel indeed very vexed that the answer I received yesterday to mine of Tuesday to you should prevent me from sending you the kind letter I had ready for you. You must not blame me for this, but really your cold, indifferent, and reserved notes, so short, without a particle of love in them (especially after pledging your word you were to write me kindly for those letters you asked me to destroy), and the manner you evaded answering the question I put to you in my last, with the reports I hear, fully convince me, Mimi, that there is foundation in your marriage with another. Besides the way you'put off our union till September, without a just reason is very suspicious. I do not think Mimi, dear, thai Mrs. Anderson would say your mother told her things she had not ; and really I could never believe Mr. Houldsworth would be guilty of telling a falsehood for mere talking. No, Mimi, there is foundation for all this. You often go to Mr M.'s house, and common sense would lead any one to believe that if you were not on the footing report says you are you would avoid going near any of his friends. I know he goes with you, or at least meets you in Stirlingshire. Mimi, dear, place yourself in my position, and tell me am I wrong in believing what I hear ? I was happy the last time we met — yes, very happy. I was forgetting all the past, but now it is again beginning. Mimi, I insist in having an explicit answer to the questions you evaded in my last. If you evade answering them this time, I must try some other means of coming to the truth. If not answered in a satisfactory manner you must not expect I shall again write you personally, or meet you when you return home. Ido not wish you to answer this at random ; I shall wait for a day or so if you require it. I know you cannot write me from Stirlingshire, as the time you have to write me a letter is occupied in doing so to others. There was a time you would have found plenty of time. Answer me this, Mimi — Who gave you the trinket which you showed me; is it true it was Mr. Minnoch ? And is it true that you are directly or indirectly engaged to Mr. Minnoch, or to any one else but me ? These questions I must know. The doctor says I must go to the Bridge of Allan. I cannot travel 500 miles to the Isle of Wight and 500 back. What is your object in wishing me so very much to go south ? I may not go to the Bridge of Allan till Wednesday ; if I can avoid going I shall do so for your sake. I shall wait to hear from. you. I hope, dear, nothing will happen to check the happiness we were again enjoying. May God bless you, pet, and, with fond and tender embraces, believe me with kind love, your ever affectionate husband. " Emixe L'Ajtoelibr." It u( difficult to imagine that a woman who would write the two following letters could have already made two attacks upon the life of the man to whom they were addressed ; yet, to those who know any- ! thing of the female heart, the thing will not appear at all impossible.

! No. 123; postmark, "Bridge of Allan, 10th of March, 1857" (reached Glasgow at 5p305 p 3O p.m.) :— My own best loved Pct — 1 hope you are well. I am very well, but it is such a cold place, far colder than in town. I have never been warm since I came here. There are very few people that we know .staying in the village. Have you ever been here, my own dear little pet? I hope, sweet one, it may make you well and strong again, and that you will not again be ill all the summer. You must try and keep well for my sake ; will you, will you, my own dear little Emile ? You love me, do you not ? Yes, Emile, I know you do. We go to Perth this week to see some friends. I am going to Edinburgh the end of this month. B. will, I think, go too. I saw you pass the morning we left, and you, little love, passing the front door ; but you would not look up, and I did not know where you were going to. We shall be home Monday or Tuesday. I shall write you, sweet love, when we shall have an interview. I long to see you — to kiss and embrace you, my only sweet love. BLiss me, sweet one, my love, my own dear, sweet, little pet. I know your kindness will forgive me if I do not write you a long letter ; but we are just going to the tram to meet friends from the north. So I shall conclude with much love, tender embraces and fond kisses. Sweet love, adieu. Ever with love, yours, Mimi. No. 125; postmark, " Bridge of Allan, March 13, 1857 (reached Glasgow 10.45 same night) :— " Dearest and beloved — I hope you are well. I am very well, and anxious to get home to you sweet one. It is cold, and we had snow all the week, which i 3 most disagreeable. I feel better since we came here. I think we shall be home on Tuesday, so I shall let you know, my own beloved sweet pet, when we shall have a dear sweet interview, when I may be pressed to your heart, and kissed by you, my own sweet love. A fond, tender embrace ; a kiss, sweet love. I hope you will enjoy your visit here. You will find it so dull ; no one here we know and I don't fancy you will find any friends, as they are all strangers, and don't appear nice people. I am longing to see you, sweet one of my heart, my only love. I wish we had not come here for another month, as it would have been so much nicer ; it would then be warm. I think if you could wait a little it would do you more good ; but you know best when you can get away. Adieu, my own love, my own sweet pet. A kiss, dear love, a tender embrace, love and kisses. Adieu, ever yours, with love and fond kisses, I am ever yours, Misri." It will be observed that the latter of the two letters is dated March 13, yet on the 16th she wrote the following letter to Mr. Minnoch : — My dearest William — It is but fair after your kindness to me that I should write you a note. The day I pass from friends I always feel sad ; but to part from one I love, as I do you, makes me feel truly sad and dull. My only consolation is that we meet soon again. To-morrow we shall be home. I do so wish you were to-day. We might take a long walk. Our walk to Dunblane I shall ever rememI ber with pleasure. That walk fixed a day on which !we are to begin a new life — a life which I hope may be of happiness and long duration to both of us. My aim through life shall be to please and study you. Dear William, I must conclude, as mamma is ready to go to Stirling. I do not go with the same pleasure as I did the last time. I hope you got to town safe, and found your sisters well. Accept my warmest, kindest love, and ever believe me to be yours with affection. Madeleine. After the receipt of the letter, dated March 13, I/Angelier went to Edinburgh, from which place he returned on the 17th, and seemed much disap. pointed on reaching his lodgings at finding there was no letter for him there. On the morning of the 19th he left the Bridge of Allan, to which place a letter from Miss Smith was forwarded to him. This letter he received on Sunday morning, and there being no train direct to Glasgow, he walked to Stirling, about 8 miles, and took the train thence to Coatbridge, from which place he walked to Glasgow, altogether a distance of not less than 15 miles, proving that he was right when he told his landlady on his arrival that he was almost well. She expressed her surprise that he hud returned so soon, when he remarked that the letter she bad forwarded to him had brought him home. About 9 o'clock he asked his landlady for the pass-key, saying, he might not be home until late. At half-past 2 the next morning, she was awakened by a violent ringing at the bell, and on opening the door, she saw the deceased standing with his arms crossed over his stomach, and complaining of great pain. She assisted him into his bedroom, but before he was half undressed he began to vomit, in fact, the symptoms were precisely similar to his previous attacks, and were those which would be induced by the administration of arsenic. He gradually got worse, and must have suffered intense agony; when his landlady became alarmed, and went to a doctor, who declined to come, as he was himself unwell, but directed her to give him 25 drops of laudanum, and to put a mustard blister on his stomach. He continued to get worse, and she went again for the doctor, w ho came soon after, but who had no idea that his patient had been poisoned. The deceased complained to the doctor of thirst, and said, " the landlady says it is bile, but I never was subject to bile." He "also spoke of being dull at finding himself so ill, and si> far away from his friends, and frequently ejaculated, "My poor mother !" The doctor then went away, and his landlady observing that he was looking so very ill, asked him if there was any one he would like to see; he said he would like to see Miss Perry. She was sent for, but unfortunately arrived too late. He died just before her arrival, so that what he might have told her of the circumstances immediately preceding his ill. ness can now never be known. Dr. Stephen, unable to state the cause of death, refused to give a certificate. Dr. Thomson was then called in, and after some little delay it was decided to make a post mortem examination of the body, the result of which was, that upwards of 83 grains of arsenic were found in the stomach. The letter referred to above was found in his waisfcoat pocket, and was as follows:— " Why, my beloved, did you not come to me ? Oh, my beloved, are you ill ? Come to me. Sweet one, I waited and waited for you, but you came not. I shall wait again to morrow night — same hour and arrangement. Oh, come, sweet love, my own dear love of a sweetheart. Come, beloved, and clasp me to your heart; come, and we shall be happy. A kiss, fond love. Adieu, with tender embraces. Ever believe me to be your own ever dear fond « Mimt." The Lord Advocates address to the jury occupied five hours and a half. The Dean of Faculty, who defended the prisoner, rested his defence on the utter improbability of a young wonian having suddenly changed from a

gentle amiable girl, " the pride and ornament of hit house," to a murderess — on the absurdity of supposing that — her object being to get back her le ters — she would poison her lover, that being the most certain way of making her letters public — and on the want of proof that she saw the deceased on the night he was poisoned. Now, with regard to the improbability of a woman changing, &c, it trust be remembered that at the very time this young woman was believed to be honest and virtuous, and was receiving the addresses of a man whom she promised to marry, she was writing letters to L'Angelier, expressed with a warmth which proved her passions to be exceedingly strong, many of these letters being of a character which prevented their publication, and even in those published passages had to be omitted. The second ground of defence is that which occurred to everybody, and which induced a great many people to believe her innocent. Now, it appears to me that she may have reasoned thus — " lam determined to marry Minnoch, whose position in the world is so greatly superior to L'Angelier' s, but if, as L'Angelier threatens, he sends my letters to my father, or makes them public, I shall not only lose the advantageous match which is offered to me, but I lose also my reputation — thus it is certain that while he lives lam his slave ; but if he were to die— certainly there is a possibility of my letters being seen by strangers, but, on the other hand, he will be ill some time before he dies, he has got no friend here — to whom is he so likely to send when he feels death approaching as to her who possesses his affection, even if it were only that she might receive the letters which would otherwise so fatally compromise her?" — Nor do I myself doubt, that had the deceased believed he was going to die, but he would have sent for her. His saying to his landlady just before he died, " I feel as if I should be better if I could get a little sleep," proves that he entertained no idea that he was just about to fall into his last long sleep. He turned over on his side as he said it, and with a request that she would draw the curtains, he left this world with all his sins upon his head. The want of actual proof of the young woman having received her lover on that night was I conceive the main reason why the jury found the charge of murder "not proven." The evidence showed that the deceased had received a letter containing an appointment (acknowledged by Madeleine Smith to be in her handwriting), in consequence of which he had walked upwards of fifteen miles (a pretty strong proof of his love for her), in order that he might keep that appointment ; he left his lodgings about nine and strolled towards Blythswood-square, where Madeleine Smith resides with her father, but knowing that they had family prayers on Sunday nights, he, of course knew she could not let him in until much later. He then went to a house at some little distance to see a friend named M'Alister, but he was not at horne — • from this time nothing could be ascertained of his proceedings until he was seen by his landlady groaning in agony at the door the following morning. That he was poisoned was certain, that she had on two occasions purchased arsenic was equally so ; but nobody had seen them together on that particular night — therefore a majority of the jury considered there was a doubt, of which they gave her the benefit. It is but fair to her to remark that she explained her purchase of arsenic by saying, that she used it as a cosmetic, but, as the Lord Advocate, remarked, if she, as she said, derived the idea of using it in this way from an article in Black wood's Magazine she would have used it in the way in which that article stated it was used, viz., by swallowing it in small quantities. The Lord Justice Clerk, on the ninth day of the trial, resumed his summing up, and proceeded to comment at gieat length upon the whole of the evidence adduced both on the part of the Crown and for the defence. He in conclusion earnestly impressed on the jury the importance of their fully considering all they had heard, and said that the case now only awaited their verdict. Unless they thought that clear conviction was brought to their minds it would be their duty to acquit her. They were not to proceed upon suspicion, or even strong suspicion, but there must be strong conviction in their minds ; and if there was any reasonable doubt, it was their duty to give the prisoner the benefit of that doubt ; but if they came to a clear conclusion of her guilt, they were not to allow any suggestion made for the defence to deter them from doing their duty. The learned Judge having reminded the jury of the oath they had taken, concluded by beseeching an all-wise and ail-seeing Providence to direct them to a right verdict. The jury then retired to their room. The appearance of the Court at this particular moment it is impossible to describe, many of the .spectators being moved to tears by the impressive and earnest address of the learned Judge. Of all the persons in the Court, the prisoner seemed to be the most self-possessed. In Scotland when a jury have agreed upon their verdict, a small bell is rung. Upon this signal being given, the most breathless silence prevailed, and in a short time afterwards the jury reappeared in the court, when The Clerk of the Court, addressing the jury, said — " Gentlemen, have you agreed to your verdict 2" The foreman, in a firm tone — " "We have." The Clerk of the Court — How say you, gentlemen ; do you find the prisoner guilty, or not guilty?" The Foreman — We find the prisoner " Not Guilty" on the first count, and " Not Proven" on the second and third. A loud and long-continued burst of applause followed the announcement of the verdict, but was immediately suppressed. The prisoner, on hearing the verdict of the jury,, gave a sigh of relief, which was the only proof she gave that she felt any interest in the trial. Her cool, indifferent manner, never deserted her from the beginning to the end of the inquiry. AX a time when some of the spectators were trembling with excitement she sat as calm and collected as if she felt not the smallest concern in the result. When certain of her letters were read she affected to hold down her hdad — for, as the Judge said, some of them were the most disgusting and revolting that ever were written. The greatest anxiety was manifested to get a view of her ; and after the trial was over, an, immense crowd waited to see her leave the building. They were, however, disappointed, for a young woman was got and dressed in her clothes, and put into a cab, which was started off in- the direction 1 of Blythswood-square, followed by the mob. Madeleine then left with her brother, without attracting any attention, but where she is gone to is still a subject of speculation.